I kicked off my heels, simultaneously running my hands over his torso, aware of the bruises on the finely sculpted muscles that rippled under my touch. I reached for his belt, unbuckling it. He helped me work him out of his clothes before tackling mine, then pushed me back on the bed, his body covering mine scant seconds later.
His mouth was hot on mine, his hands all-knowing, and my legs moved to accommodate him, nestling so close, we practically melted together. Then he was inside me, hitting home like he'd drawn the map and didn't need anyone to show him the way.
Like everything about Solomon, his movements were assured and confident, and as he began to move, my legs tightened about his waist. As we found our rhythm, he kissed me like the world could end tomorrow. And damn, if my brain didn't go on a vacation, there and then.
When we woke up, it was dark and Solomon's lips were on mine before I could even begin to process my thoughts. I pulled him to me, my body taking over from my brain again as we made love once more. A sweaty tangle of limbs, the only sounds were those of our belabored breathing, and Solomon whispering my name.
If he ever got bored of surveillance, I was pretty sure he could get a job as the sex whisperer.
“Lovely, lovely, Lexi,” he murmured as he held me to him. And, again, I was lost.
Chapter Twelve
I hemmed and hawed my way brainlessly through the day, barely able to concentrate from start to end. Walking back to the apartment—alone as Solomon called to say he was running a few minutes late and would meet me there—I considered what had happened and what might happen this evening. Was last night a one off? Something to be repeated? Despite waking snuggled against Solomon, I had no idea what to expect.
As I stood on the curb, waiting to cross the road to the apartment, I was confounded by indecision. My mind had been one big fail whale since I got up. Blinking in the cool sun, I wasn't sure what to do. Go inside and wait for Solomon? Walk over to the gym? I didn't want to look like I assumed anything... or that I was leaving what happened between us as a one-night-stand.
My indecision coincided with looking up just in time to see Roxanne zip past in a red VW, a bright pink scarf looped around her neck, no doubt heading towards the exit, judging by her direction. I tried to engineer a meeting all day, but failed miserably. When I got the okay from Mitch to run a false errand over to the catering block where Roxanne worked, I found her office empty. Wherever she hung out on lunch break, it wasn't with the other civvies.
This was my chance to catch up with her.
"Bingo," I said, racing across the road to Solomon's Lexus. Fishing his spare set of keys from my purse, I jumped in, gunned the engine and pulled out. On the twisty base roads, I almost lost her, but caught up, three cars behind, at the exit booths. I followed through slowly, then accelerated so I wouldn't miss her turn. I didn’t want to assume she was heading back to her parents’ place, where she still lived.
Staying a regulation two car lengths minimum behind, I followed Roxanne as she headed towards Chester. A quick glance at the clock on the dash and I guessed that although she was probably heading home, that didn't explain why our speed was starting to creep above the limit, nor why she was barely waiting for the lights to turn green before she slammed her foot down, racing through the intersections.
I floored it and followed, wondering whether she was more anxious to get away from base or to get home. After ten minutes of erratic driving, during which she cut off two cars and powered through a yellow light, I got closer. I resisted ducking in my seat as she glanced at her mirror. Now I thought about it, she kept checking her mirrors every couple minutes. I wasn't sure if she made me; but just in case, I didn't want to spook her, so I slowed down, allowing a couple of cars and a white panel van to get between us.
If she were heading home, it wouldn't matter if I lost her briefly, I reasoned. I'd catch up with her at her parents' house, where she apparently lived, and see what she did from there. If I lost her, I'd circle around her sister's apartment, then try the local bars, where Gretchen mentioned seeing the sisters occasionally. It would be a long shot, but I mainly didn’t want to spook her. I just wanted to see what she did, and maybe wangle a meeting so I could slip in some casual questions.
Ahead, I caught sight of Roxanne hanging a right, and I just had time to slide through the turn after her. I was behind a minivan filled with wildly gesturing teens and a compact that blew black smoke every thirty seconds. Chester wasn't the most interesting town, so I didn't make it my business to hang out here. Instead, I preferred the nightlife and shopping of Montgomery. However, I knew enough of the street layout to realize Roxanne was heading away from home, through a district with shops that were shutting down for the night. I lost sight of her behind a van, forcing me to take a sharp left when I caught a glimpse of her car. Ahead the lights were red, the street deserted, so I slowed and gave myself plenty of time to roll along calmly.
Or it would have been calmly if there wasn't a loud crunch ahead as the van lurched to a stop. I braked a car length away and waited. Now would be a perfect opportunity to play concerned citizen, jump out, offer to lend a hand and, with great surprise, “recognize” Roxanne, thereby giving me the opportunity to introduce myself. I could probably offer her a ride, giving me the perfect opportunity to get her to open up.
Just as I decided that was what I would do, the doors to the van opened on both sides and two men, clad in black fatigues and balaclavas, jumped out. There were guns in their hands, and they dashed to the car in front. This was no ordinary fender bender. I watched open-mouthed as the driver's side door was wrenched open. There was some shouting and Roxanne appeared at the side of the van, crying and screaming, her fists flailing as one man caught her around the waist. My eyes bugged in horror when one of the gunmen hit her on the side of the head with the butt of his gun, and she went limp, her arms flopping loosely by her sides. The other man caught her just as her legs crumpled and carried her around the side of the van. The side door slid back and he tossed her inside, slamming the door shut and stepping back.
At which time, he noticed me.
"Shit!" I squealed.
Raising his gun, he pointed.
I slumped in my seat, making myself less of a target, while slamming the car into reverse. I sped backwards without so much as checking my mirrors. I was expecting the shots to be fired any moment.
After two hundred yards, I heard the scream of tires and saw the van lurch around Roxanne's car, racing through the now green light, as it sped off.
Without thinking about it, I braked hard, put the car into drive, floored it, and chased after them, darting around Roxanne's car before leaving it alone in the street, the headlamps still flooding the road ahead.
The kidnappers’ van sped on, taking sharp lefts and rights that I barely caught, the Lexus’ own tires screaming in my effort to keep up. Then they slammed on their brakes. The passenger jumped out and aimed and fired at me.
I screamed and slammed to a hard stop; then struggled to put the car in reverse. The Lexus’ front tires exploded and my heart climbed into my throat as I sat there waiting. Instead of moving towards me to plant a bullet right where it hurt before I was terminated, the gunman raced back to the van, jumped in and they sped away, Roxanne included.
"Shit!" I bashed my fists into the steering wheel, my heart pumping from the sheer adrenaline of being neither dead, nor any longer in pursuit.
Taking deep breaths and trying not to shake, I looked around, seeking help. Surely someone saw something?
“Damn it!” I was in nowhere land. The area was deserted, the metal bars protecting shop windows. It was no boutique neighborhood. Instead, there was an auto body shop, a plumber, and a wholesaler. No one walked, no cars lingered. No one knew where I was: a lonely part of town with no passing traffic and twin flat front tires, bullets probably lodged in the rims. I couldn't have felt more like a sitting duck.
I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and, swallowing my embarrassment at fucking up,
called Solomon.
"I'm in trouble," I said, without preamble.
"Tell me."
"I saw Roxanne driving off base, so I followed her. I got as far as Chester when she got car jacked."
"Car jacked?" Solomon enunciated slowly, his voice thick with… what? Fear? Anger? Annoyance? I mentally checked “all of the above.”
"At least two men, maybe three, armed, white van,” I explained, struggling to keep my thoughts clear as my heart continued to pound. “They rear-ended Roxanne and pulled her out of her car. I think they knocked her out. Pistol whipped." I gulped.
"Jesus! You okay?" Solomon rarely sounded worried. When he did, it was because he was just catching up to a catastrophe.
"Um, kinda. Uh, that is, they saw me and one of the men shot out the tires." I didn't add that they were his tires. My own VW was sitting on the driveway outside my apartment, safe and sound.
"Are you sure you’re okay?" he asked again, slowly this time.
"Super-duper," I replied in a tone flatter than the Lexus’ tires. I looked around again, noticing that finally, I’d attracted some attention. A small group had gathered on the sidewalk, a block down. I couldn't tell if they were men, women, boys or girls. They all wore baggy pants and zip-up sweatshirts, the hoods pulled up, or peaked caps. They didn't look friendly. "I don't think I'm in the best neighborhood. I need you to come get me." With a sinking feeling, I realized Solomon didn't have any transport. His voice, telling me not to spill food in his car echoed in my brain. If spilled food deserved a spanking, then surely getting his tires shot out would involve nudity? I gulped again.
"No problem. I’m already moving. I'll be there in ten."
"How do you know where I am?"
"GPS on the car. Sit tight."
"Step on it," I said, my voice tightening as one of the group nodded towards me.
"Put your hand under the seat."
"I don't suppose I should ask why?"
"You'll see."
I stuck my hand under the seat, my fingers connecting with a cool flat surface and a small lip I could curl my fingertips under. "What now?"
"There's a secret compartment. Pull it open."
I opened it, spreading my legs so I could stick my head between them like I was going to throw up. I pulled out a gun. "Jeez, Solomon. Is this legal?"
He ignored me. "Get the clip. Load it. Keep it with you until I get there."
I loaded the clip, my hands shaking slightly, and held the gun in my lap, business side away from anything crucial. I watched the group while I waited, not so patiently, as the minutes ticked by.
Solomon rolled up just as the group on the sidewalk, their faces now shielded by scarves, started to sidle closer. He leaned over, popped the lock of his door and beckoned me with a simple curl of his fingers. I didn’t need asking twice. I exited the car, climbing into his seconds later. He ran his eyes over me, seeming to find me in an adequate state—i.e. no bullet holes—and glanced in his mirror, watching as another car pulled around us. It reversed against the disabled Lexus. I passed Solomon the gun and he stuck it into his waistband.
"Who's that?" I peered towards the new car.
"Delgado and Fletcher."
"Huh. Where did this car come from?"
"Same place they came from," Solomon said, clearly not feeling too committed to an answer as we watched the two men get out. Fletcher stood point, legs spread, arms crossed, staring at the group, daring them to defy him, while Delgado fiddled with some kind of two-pulley, ratcheting system that jacked the front wheels of Solomon's car off the road. After a few minutes, they nodded at each other and Fletcher got back in the sedan, while Delgado climbed into the Lexus. They pulled off. A moment later, Solomon pulled a U-turn, driving back the way I had come.
"We're not going to look for the van?" I asked, looking over my shoulder.
"Nope. They're long gone. Did you get a good look at the men?"
"No. They wore masks. But I could tell they were both white because I saw their wrists above their gloves. They were fit looking and I think there might have been someone else in the van. No, there was definitely a driver."
"And the guns?"
"Couldn't tell you. Not my forte. The van had a logo like a florist’s on it. Flowers in a green circle. There was some lettering, but I didn't see what. I got a plate."
Solomon nodded.
"Did I do the right thing?" I asked, when he was silent for some time.
"Yes," he said, finally, his shoulders lifting slightly in a barely-there shrug. Then, "Maybe you shouldn't have chased them."
"They kidnapped a woman in front of me!"
"You were lucky they shot the tires out, rather than killing you straight away." His voice was deadly cold, strained.
"Good point. At least the van is a lead," I added hopefully.
"Probably stolen."
There went my theory about rampaging, gun-toting florists.
"I think I should call this in," I said, tentatively. "Garrett said the fraud squad wanted to know why he looked up Jillian Connor; and Maddox and his partner were at her house. This might be connected to them." Much as I hated to help Maddox right now, I had to be the bigger person. Roxanne was hurt, maybe unconscious, and if not, then definitely afraid; and no one except us knew she was missing. Much as I understood the nature of keeping our investigations confidential, this was serious. I had to tell someone.
"Keep us out of it," was all Solomon said, which I took as his consent.
I did the best thing I could think of under the circumstances, I called my brother.
"'Lo," said Garrett.
"It's me. Remember when I asked you to look up Jillian Connor and you got a visit from the fraud squad?"
"I can't tell you anything because I don't know anything," said Garrett, sounding tired. "And you know I wouldn't tell you anything anyway."
I bet he would if he needed an urgent babysitter, but that was a card to pull out another time. "I know. Actually, I want you to give them some information."
"Go on."
I explained what I'd seen and waited while Garrett noted the location of Roxanne's car and the van details.
"I bet her car is stripped by the time I get someone from Chester PD out to check on it. What are you caught up in?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.
"I don't know," I replied, "but can you make sure that info gets to Maddox, please?"
"Want me to tell him it's from you?"
"No! Can you say it's an anonymous tip?"
"Will do. You owe me babysitting. A Saturday night," Garrett added before clicking off.
"He'll pass it on and keep us out of it," I said. Solomon nodded that he heard.
When we got back to the apartment, he ran his hands over every inch of me; I think to reassure himself that I wasn't in any way hurt. Well, the rug burn I received after we didn't make it to the bedroom would probably chafe in the morning, but that was hardly as horrible as being beaten by the butt of a gun.
~
Ruth asked me to work an extra day. After weighing up the pros and cons of sitting at the apartment, mentally writing my will or working a new angle, I said I'd come in. It was no contest really.
I was just checking through Mitch's calendar, making sure he had everything he needed, when the door opened behind me and footsteps entered.
"Excuse me, ma'am?" said the voice behind me. It was a Boston accent, gruff and authoritative. "I'm looking for Captain Mitch McAuley."
"One moment." I plastered on a smile as I rose, a smile that froze as I turned. The speaker's voice didn’t ring a bell, but I recognized him all right. He was the man that came to Jillian's house when Solomon and I made a fast exit out the back. I didn't even need to see his badge. Close up, everything about him said “cop”, from the worn expression to the close-cut hair, from the navy suit to the striped tie, knotted neatly about his neck. My dad would have approved of his tie. He couldn't abide the elastic versions. This was a proper knot, hand-tied wi
th pride.
Right behind him stood Maddox.
My heart pounded, and for a long moment, we stared at each other. I braced myself for the questions, but they never came. Looking at Maddox, I think he was as shocked as I. He blinked.
"He's not here right now. Can I help you gentlemen with anything?" I asked as I approached the counter. Just my luck that Ruth was on an errand, leaving me to man the desk. I couldn’t even hide. Well, I could. But it would make for some awkward moments, given that they had already seen me.
"We have a meeting with him in ten minutes. I'm Detective Hennessey and this is Detective Maddox." Detective Hennessey flashed his badge. Behind him, Maddox narrowed his eyes and flashed his too, not that he needed to, since I'd seen his badge on semi-regular evenings for the past few months.
I gulped. "Take a seat." I indicated to the small waiting area with a flap of my hand. "I'm sure Captain McAuley will be along soon."
"Thanks," said Hennessey, barely looking at me as he turned away. Maddox gave me another narrow-eyed gaze, and inhaled deeply, his mouth tightening into a cross look I was very familiar with.
I flashed wide eyes at him, warning him completely unnecessarily to be careful, and returned to my desk, moving my chair slightly to the side so I could see them from the corner of my eye. Hennessey picked up a newspaper and opened it to the sports section. Maddox crossed his arms, leaned back against the wall and burned a hole in me as I tried to focus my attention on the printout of Mitch's calendar. I cursed myself for not thinking to actually check with whom his appointments were. There it was, plain as day, the pair of them penciled in at the appointed hour.
After five minutes, which seemed to stretch on forever, the bell rang above the door and I looked up to see Mitch enter, a couple of manila files parked under one arm.
"Your two o'clock's here," I said, passing him a sheaf of email printouts as instructed by Ruth, and nodding towards Montgomery's finest. And Maddox.
I kept a careful eye on them as they went through the motions of introductions and shaking hands; then I was dispatched to get coffee while they retreated to Mitch's office. I got them their drinks, adding sachets of creamer and sugar, and took them in, my listening ears set to “snoop.”
Command Indecision (Lexi Graves Mysteries) Page 14
